


Newsies: A New Musical (With an Added Twist!)

by spoilerjinx



Category: Newsies - All Media Types
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-29
Updated: 2017-03-29
Packaged: 2018-10-12 17:29:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10496031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spoilerjinx/pseuds/spoilerjinx
Summary: In this story formatted interpretation of Newsies,  we see a reimagined Jack Kelly and a somewhat different love interest for Jack. We see backstories for some of our favorite characters, and insights on their lives before and during the strike. All of your favorite Newsies numbers guaranteed! Told in third person, told mainly in Jack's storyline. This telling shows the struggles of child labor during the Industrial Revolution in a more realistic light.Based on the real Newsboys Strike of 1899, set in New York City at the turn of the twentieth century, NEWSIES is the rousing tale of Jack Kelly, a charismatic teenager and leader of a ragged band of teenaged “newsies” who dreams only of a better life far from the hardship of the streets. But when publishing titans Joseph Pulitzer and William Randolph Hearst raise distribution prices at the newsboys’ expense, Jack finds a cause to fight for and rallies newsies from across the city to strike for what’s right.





	

On the early morn in New York, Jack Kelly woke up to the sound of Crutchie stirring about. It was still dark outside, and the sun was yet to come and greet the city.

 

"Hey...Hey whattya doin'?! The bell ain't rung yet. Go back to sleep!" Cried Jack.

"I wanna hit the streets before the otha fellas do," Answered Crutchie with a warm smile. "I wanna make my own way. I don't want anybody to see that I ain't been walkin' me so good."

"Oh be quiet. Ya know how many guys fake a limp? A real one like yours is a goldmine."

Crutchie's friendly smile grew. Jack never knew Crutchie's real name.  When they met, he was hobbling around the town on his first day selling papers. The boys asked for his name, he responded so quietly they all rolled their eyes and just called him "Crutchie." Crutchie said he never minded the name. He said it was unique and made him feel like it was made just for him.  

Jack had begun to help Crutchie ever since the Delancey brothers made it harder for him to accomplish anything. Jack taught him the ropes on garnering sympathy for money, and how to survive on very little. Jack helped him with what he couldn't do on his own, and it over time blossomed a beautiful friendship between the two. Crutchie has created a soft spot in Jack's otherwise calloused street kid heart, and it made them family.

"If someone gets the idea that I'm not fine they'll lock me up in the refuge for good," he stressed, hugging his wooden crutch to his chest. He shook his head and started to head down the fire escape. "Be a pal and help me down Jackie."

Before Jack could scold Crutchie for using the nickname, he had lost balance and was holding onto the fire escape by a limb. He cried out.

Jack rushed over and pulled him up. "Jeez Crutch! You wanna hurt the other leg too?!"

"I wanted to get down!"

"You'll get down there soon enough!" Jack sighed in relief at seeing Crutchie safe and gripped the railing. "Take a moment to enjoy my penthouse! Enjoy the stupid streets of New York."

"You're crazy," Crutch mused.

"Oh why? Because I want a breath of fresh air? Cuz I wanna see the sky and the stars?"

"Oh you're seeing stars all right."

Jack leaned against the railing. "Them streets down there, they sucked the life right outta my old man. Well they ain't doin' that to me.

Crutchie made a face. "But everyone wants to come to New York."

Jack shrugged. "You keep your small life in the big city. Give me a big life in a small town."

_They say folks is dyin' to get here_  
_Me, I'm dyin' to get away_  
_To a little town out west_  
_That's spankin' new_

_And while I ain't never been there_  
_I can see it clear as day_  
_If you want, I bet'cha you could see it, too_

_Close your eyes_  
_Come with me_  
_Where it's clean and green and pretty_  
_And they went and made a city outta clay_

_Why, the minute that ya get there_  
_Folks'll walk right up and say_  
_"Welcome home, son_  
_Welcome home to Santa Fe!"_

_Plantin' crops_  
_Splittin' rails_  
_Swappin' tales around the fire_  
_'Cept for Sunday when you lie around all day_

_Soon your friends are more like family_  
 _And they's beggin' you to stay!_  
_Ain't that neat? Livin' sweet_  
_In Santa Fe_

Jack gently smacked his arm with the back of his hand. "Hey, no one worries about no gimp leg in Santa Fe. You just hop a Palomino, you'll ride in style!" _  
_

Crutchie laughed. "Feature me, ridin' in style."

"Hey, I bet a few months of clean air, you could toss that crutch for good!"

The two smiled and began singing in unison.

_Santa Fe_  
_You can bet_  
_We won't let them bastards beat us_  
_We won't beg no one to treat us fair and square_  
_There's a life that's worth the livin'_  
_And I'm gonna do my share_

_"Work the land, chase the sun!"_

_Swim the whole Rio Grande just for fun!_

Crutchie beamed, but appeared crestfallen. _"Watch me stand!_  
_Watch me run..."_

Jack put a hand on Crutchie's shoulder. "Hey..." Jack sung:

_Don't you know that we's a family?_  
_Would I let you down?_  
_No way_  
_Just hold on, kid_  
_'Til that train makes Santa Fe_

The two hugged each other tight.

Jack broke away from the hug and heard the bell. 

"Half the dreamin's done," Jack told Crutch before hitting the bars of the fire escape shouting, "SPECS! HESTER! HENRY! UP AND AT EM! GET A MOVE ON THE PAPES DON'T SELL THEMSELVES!" 

With that, Jack and Crutchie went to get ready for the day.

Meanwhile, three boys stood in front of the small mirror of newsie bunk bathroom, fighting.

One, nicknamed Racetrack, noticed one boy smoking something oddly familiar.

_Hey!  
That's my cigar!_

Albert rolled his eyes.

_You'll steal another!_

Specs passed by and laughed at Henry, who was shaving front of the mirror. "Oh look! It's bathtime at the zoo!"

Henry grinned.

_I thought that I'd surprise my mother...  
_

Albert mocked him. "If you can find her!"

"WHO ASKED YOU?!" Yelled all the newsboys.

Race smirked.

_From Bottle Alley tuh da Harbor_  
_There's easy pickin's guaranteed!_

Finch nodded in agreement.

_Try any banker, bum, or barber  
They almost all knows how to read!_

At that moment Jack burst into the bathroom. Some of the boys jumped, as Jack was not staying in the newsie bunks the night before and there was no way the kid should have gotten in. Henry, wearing only a towel at the waist, scrambled to cover up her bare chest and torso using only his arms. Jack paid no attention and walked over to the mirror, checking for any imperfections. Jack was now wearing a blue collared shirt, a brown vest, slacks, and shoes, opposed to the dirty nightshirt Crutchie saw just a few hours prior.  A newsie cap covered the brown hair that had been neatly groomed.

_It's a crooked game we're playin'_  
_One we'll never lose_  
_Long as suckers don't mind payin'_  
_Just to get bad news!_

With that Jack shooed everyone out. They all burst into the streets, all dressed with newsie caps and cross body bags for their papers.

_Ain't it a fine life!_  
_Carrying the banner through it all_  
_A mighty fine life!_  
_Carrying the banner tough and tall_  
_When the bell rings_  
_We goes where we wishes_  
_We's as free as fishes_  
_Sure beats washing dishes_  
_What a fine life_  
_Carrying the banner home-free all!_

Finch sauntered over to Crutchie. "Hey, Crutchie, what's your leg say, gonna rain?"

There was a nasty rumor that Crutchie's bad leg had the strange ability to predict the weather. Really, Crutchie just read the weekly weather predictions in the news, unlike the other boys. He did enjoy playing along. He shook his bad leg and pretended to look concentrated. "Uhh, no rain..." He shook it again and feigned surprise. "Oh oh! Partly cloudy clear by evening."

Race smiled. "Ha! And the limp sells fifty papes a week, all by itself!"

Crutchie shrugged. "I don't need the limp to sell papes. I got poisonality!"

_It takes a smile that spreads like butter_  
_The kind that turns a lady's head._

Another kid joined in.

_It takes an orphan with a stutter..._

"Who's also blind!"

"And mute!"

"AND DEAD!"

_Summer stinks and winters freezing_  
_When you works outdoors_

_Start out sweatin_  
_End up sneezin'_  
_In between it pours!_

  
_Still it's a fine life_  
_Carrying the banner with me chums_  
_A bunch of big shots_  
_Tossin' out a freebie to the bums!_

Finch paused. "Hey!"

_Hey! What's the hold up?_  
Waiting makes me antsy  
I likes livin' chancey

The other boys joined in. 

_Harlem to Delancey_  
What a fine life!  
_Carrying the banner through the—_

Nuns gathered at the opening of the church. Jack and Race hoisted Crutchie on their shoulders so he'd get food first. The nuns were good people. Every morning they'd stand and pass out food and coffee to the newsies and other workers they knew couldn't afford breakfast. Jack's stomach growled. Dinner the night before wasn't an option, and the only thing to eat was Crutchie's leftover paper. So the two split paper and ink for a meal. Usually Jack would steal food for Crutchie if it they couldn't afford food, but that night Crutchie begged Jack not to steal, as the cops were on patrol and knew that if caught Jack would be shipped back to the refuge. Jack begrudgingly agreed, and felt guilty watching the crippled kid have to eat a newspaper because he couldn't sell it to afford food. It was unfair. Jack didn't have enough money for food and also to buy papers the next day, but would have gladly given all the money to Crutchie if it meant him getting to eat. Sadly, the little money Jack had made from a slow day wasn't even enough for a crust of bread for the kid. Just enough to go to work. Jack had gone hungry several times before, and knew how to starve slowly without dying. The refuge teaches one how to build a tolerance to stomachs roaring, but Crutchie had never experienced that, and Jack never wanted him to. Jack's worry was that if Crutchie's health suffered more than it already had it wouldn't end well. So Crutchie always was given first dibs on food. In the mornings, the other boys never seemed to have a problem with it, either because Crutchie never took more than he needed or because no one wanted to fight in front of a nun. Crutchie was gracious though. He took a small cup of coffee and a roll before passing out food and drink to everyone else, making sure he didn't take a bite until the other boys had something. Jack and Race gently set their friend to the ground afterward to receive breakfast. Jack took the same as Crutchie.

"Thanks for the grub sista!" Called one of the boys.

One of the nuns turned to him. "Elmer! When are we going to see you  _inside_ the church?"

Elmer grinned and took of his hat, putting it over his heart."I dunno sister, but it's bound tuh rain sooner or later!"

_Curdled (just give me half a cup) coffee (something to wake me up)_  
_Concrete donuts (I gotta find an angle) sprinkled with mold (it's gettin' bad out here)_  
_Homemade (papers is all I got) biscuits (it's 88 degrees) (Jack says to change my spot) (wish I could catch a breeze)_  
_Just two (maybe it's worth a shot) years old (all I can catch is fleas)_

 Jack stepped out, finishing the coffee and returning the steel mug to a nun. Roll still in hand, Jack looked at the boys.

_If I hate the headlines_  
_I'll make up a headline_  
_And I'll say anything I hafta_

The newsies nodded in agreement.

_Cause at two for a penny_  
_If I take too many_  
_Weasel just makes me eat 'em afta_

Group One:

_Got a feelin' bout the headline_

_I smells me a headline_

_Papes is gonna sell like we was givin' em' away_

_Betcha dinner it's a doozy_

_'bout a pistol-packing floozey_

_Who knows how to make a newsie's day_

Group two:  
_I do too! So it must be true_  
_What a switch! Soon we'll all be rich_  
_Don't know a better way to make a newsie's day_

They all joined together.

_You wanna move the next edition_  
_Give us an earthquake or a war_

Snipeshooter smiled.  
_How 'bout a crooked politician?_

The newsies were not amusued and began heading to the gate.  
_Ya nitwit, that ain't news no more_  
_Uptown to Grand Central Station_  
_Down to City Hall_  
_We improves our circulation_  
_Walking till we fall_

Group one:  
_But we'll be out there_  
_Carrying the banner man to man!_  
_We're always out there_  
_Soakin' every sucker that we can!_  
_See the headline:_  
_Newsies on a mission!_

Group two:  
_Got a feelin' bout the headline_  
_I smells me a headline_  
_Papes is gonna sell like we was givin' em' away_  
_Betcha dinner it's a doozy_  
_'bout a pistol-packing floozey_  
_Don't know any better way to make a newsie's day_

Group one:  
_Kill the competition_  
_Sell the next edition_  
_We'll be out there, carryin' the banner_  
_See us out there, carryin' the banner_  
_Always out there, carryin' the banner_

Group two:  
_I was stakin' out the circus and then someone said that coney's really hot_  
_But when I got there, there was Spot with all his cronies_  
_Heck, I'm gonna take what little dough I got and play with the ponies_  
_We at least deserve a headline for the hours that they work us_  
_Jeez, I bet if I just stayed a little longer at the circus_

The children pressed against the bars of the gate, waiting for the headline.

"Oh please let it be good!" Prayed Race.

The burly old man climbed the ladder, picked up a stick of chalk, and wrote:

** TROLLEY STRIKE CONTINUES **

The kids groaned. The strike seemed to have been going on forever. It was impossible to sell a headline that had the same old news as the day before.

Two boys primly dressed sauntered over to the gate. Pocket watches hung from their chains, and their fedoras look better. Their looks however, did not save them from the newsboys' taunting.

"Oh my, what is that unpleasant aroma?!"

"Step aside, " one of the two well dressed boys said, pulling out a key.

"Maybe one of the sewers backed up last night."

"Or could it be..."

"The Delancey Brothers!" The boys cheered in a mocking manner. 

The Delanceys ignored them and opened the gates, letting them pour in.

"So," Henry said. "I heard yous accepting money from the strike."

"An honest living," The Delancey retorted.

"A crack in the head is too!"

"I take care of the man who takes care of me."

"Like your rich father?"

"At least I got someone who takes care of me."

With that the Delancey boy shoved him. Crutchie tried to intervene but his brother grabbed. "You want some of that too?! You lousy crip!"

He swiped the crutch and pushed the boy to the ground. The newboys roared in anger. Jack immediately ran up, snatched the crutch and screamed. "That's not nice Morris! How would you feel if someone was pickin' on you? Let's see..."

Jack wacked both boys with the crutch and watched them both fall as the news bell rang. Jack took off as the Delanceys tried to chase the sly teenager, the newsboys trailing not far behind.

_We'll all be out there, carryin' the banner man to man_  
_We're always out there, soakin' evey sucker that we can_  
_Here's the headline:_  
_Newsies on a mission_  
_Kill the competition_  
_Sell the next edition_  
_We'll be out there, carryin' the banner_  
_See us out there, carryin' the banner_  
_Always out there, carryin' the banner_  
_Ah, ah, ah, go!_

By the time they made it to the newsstand, Crutchie's crutch had been returned to him. The kids lined up for their papers, taunting the Delancey's boss.

" Why hello there Mr. Weasel!"

"I keep telling you. It's Wiesel!"

Most of the boys went through the line, mocking him and calling him "Weasel."

"At least call him Mister," Jack chimed in.

"I'll call him sweetheart if he spots me my papes," Henry joked.

Wiesel forced him his workload.

"Whatever happened to romance?"

Crutchie next. He politely asked Mr. Wiesel for his share and Wiesel, a bit nicer, turned to the Delancey boys. "Fifty papers for Crutchie."

Even the adults called him Crutchie.

Next in line was a boy seeming to be much more nicely groomed than the others. His clothes were clean. His hair looked brushed. No one had ever seen him before.

"Look at this, a new kid!"

"I'm new too!" Cried a much younger boy, undoubtedly his younger brother.

"Don't worry kid it rubs right off."

"I'll take twenty newspapers please."

"Twenty papes for the new kid." 

The boy was ready to take the papes and go, but he was stopped by Wiesel.

"Where's my dime?"

"I'll pay you when I sell them," he answered in pure innocence.

"No. You pay me for what you take." He held out his hand for the money.

"But you buy back what I don't sell, right?"

Everybody laughed.

"This kid's a riot. Cough up the cash."

The boy sighed and reluctantly handed him the dime. Papers were slammed into his chest and he was told to move along. The boy started counting as the next kid in line walked up.

"Has anyone told you yous got a face for movies?"

"Really?" Wiesel asked thoughtfully.

"Yeah! Buy a ticket, they'll let anyone in!"

The boys laughed. 

"Excuse me!" The boy from before called. "I asked for twenty but you gave me nineteen."

Small "oos" erupted from the other kids. Wiesel wrote him off. Jack waltzed over and snatched the boy's stack of papers, counting.

Wiesel was getting in his face. The Delanceys were ready to fight.

"He's right," countered Jack. "You gave him nineteen. I'm sure it was an honest mistake. Poor Oscar can't count to twenty with his shoes on."

Jack smiled as Wiesel held Oscar back. He shoved the boy another paper. Jack grinned and slammed a coin down. "Give the kid fifty more papes!"

"I don't want fifty more! We're not a charity case." He grabbed his brother's hand. "Come on Les. We don't need his help." 

As Les was being pulled away, he caught a glimpse of the back of Jack's head. Two Dutch braids wrapped and pinned to the back of the head peaked out from underneath the newsie cap. Les knew there was something off about the way Jack looked. His form was different than the others. He had different curves, and something his vest was trying to cover up.

"Wait!" Les yelled. "He's a girl!"

Les's older brother whipped around to see Jack smirking. "Good of you to notice."

Les was absolutely right. Beneath the blue collared shirt, the brown vest, and the pants was a young woman around the same age as the boy. A tan collected on the girl's skin, indicating she worked outside. Her cap cast shadows and hid many of the more feminine features of her face. He had never seen a girl in pants before. Or dressed for a boy, in that matter.

 "Do you not know who that is?!" Crutchie asked him. "That's the famous Jack Kelly! She once escaped jail on the back of Roosevelt's carriage!"

Jack smiled humbly. 

"And your name is Jack?" 

"Sort of. Short for somethin' else."

"And you're a girl?"

Jack invaded his space. "You got a problem with that?" 

She was intimidating. All the newsboys had her respect, and it had nothing to do with her gender. Some would later tell him that it was weeks or sometimes months before they realized Jack wasn't a boy. 

Jack growing up had never been one for feminine wear, and when she realized that no one wanted to buy papes from a scrawny raggedy girl, she upped her game. Exchanged her tattered dress for a pair of pants (which to her felt much better) and stole a shirt and a vest from a clothes line. She kept her voice, and most people just assumed it just hadn't changed. She figured out how to sell any story with charisma and charm, and with a quick passerby not realizing her gender, paid for their paper. She taught many of the boys the trade, and helped them. She sold more papes than anyone, and was stronger and tougher than half the boys. She had the newsies full adoration, and was ultimately their leader. The Delanceys had once tried to tell her she should marry instead of work and she broke Oscar's tooth. No one questioned her ability further.

The boy was speechless. Jack turned to Wes. "Hey how old are you?"

"Ten! Almost."

"Well if anybody asks you're seven. Younger sells more papes. Now we're gonna be partners--"

"Who said we wanted to be partners?!" Whined his brother.

"A chance to work with Jack Kelly? That's the chance of a lifetime! She can teach you to do anything! She's the best of the best!"

"If she's the best why is she teaming up with a little kid?"

Jack narrowed her eyes at Les's older brother. "Because I ain't got a brudder and you do."

"I'm Les!" Les announced and gestured to his brother. "And that's my brother David!"

"Davey nice meetin' yuh." She turned back to Les. "Make a sad face, Les."

Les turned and made an adorably upset face.

"Do that any time someone says no. This is gonna tell a thousand papes a week! We'll start at seventy-thirty," Jack said.

"Fifty-fifty!"

"Sixty-forty. Final offer."

"Deal!"

Jack spit into her hand and held it out. Les copied and shook.

"That's disgusting!" Yelled an appalled Davey. 

"That's business," Jack shot back. "COME ON BOYS! LET'S SELL SOME PAPES!" 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! I just want to apologize for the repetition of Jack's name. I was trying to avoid the pronouns. Honest thoughts. Did you like it? Anything you didn't like? Something that bothered you? Comment and let me know!


End file.
